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"That can't be that interesting," Isaac says. He's been watching Stiles click on something kind of explosion-shaped for the past hour.
"I didn't say it was interesting. I said there's a 2% chance this mount is going to drop, and if I don't try it basically every freaking day, I'm never going to get it."
"When you say things like mount, my mind goes places."
Stiles laughs like he isn't listening. A few seconds later he looks over from the desk to where Isaac is on the bed studying for the GED. "Wait. What places?"
Allison and Scott are banging enthusiastically in the next room over, because Mrs. McCall is working the night shift, which is apparently the teenage booty call shift. So it's not like Isaac's coming out of nowhere with the sex thoughts. "What places do you think?"
"Mount… y places?"
Isaac puts GED binder on the nightstand. The room still feels like a hotel room. It's decorated with Mrs. McCall's ugly prints of flowers and a bedspread that looks like a bunch of swirls committed ritual suicide. But it's his now, no matter how many times he wakes up in the night feeling lost and shaking until he zeroes in on the calming thrum of his packmate's heartbeat next door.
Stiles started coming over during the summer, when Scott and Allison were broken up, and migrated little by little into Isaac's room when Scott and Allison got back together in a loud, grudge-fucking sort of way on a regular basis.
Isaac doesn't ask why Stiles can't just play World of Warcraft on his laptop at home. He can smell the tension in him, the pain. He's not sick, but he still smells diseased.
"You wouldn't know mounted if it mounted you," Isaac says.
Stiles snorts. "Did you practice that one today?"
Isaac crosses the room swiftly, trying to startle Stiles. It works.
"Fucker," Stiles says when Isaac bumps into his back like he was standing there all the while. "God. You're faster than Scott, you know."
"I know." Isaac dips and kisses Stiles' throat, right below his ear.
"Um." Stiles' wireless mouse veers to the right and topples from the desk. "Is this a thing we're doing?"
"Seems like it," Isaac says. He goes from kissing to suckling and Stiles slams the laptop shut.
"Are you in heat? Do boy wolves do that?"
"I'm just horny. Boys do that."
"That's a true story," Stiles says, tapping his fingers at the desk in a staccato beat.
"Turn around, Stiles."
When Stiles turns, he cracks his knee against the desk and swears. He overcompensates in Isaac's direction like he's trying to make it out to be nothing, just as Isaac ducks close to see if he broke something while spazzing out, so they knock their heads together. It hurts Isaac just enough to know it must have really hurt Stiles, but it's still too fucking funny not to laugh. And laugh.
Stiles' mouth squirms around like he can't settle on a comfortable expression. "Ha. Ha."
The carpet is relatively thick, so Isaac pulls Stiles down to the floor, and finds Stiles' surprised, wet mouth, and kisses him deeply. This is when Isaac fucking loves what he is. There's no guesswork here, no wondering if he's making a bad decision, no freaking out thinking Stiles isn't into it. The answers are all there, on his tongue and in his nose and under his exploring hands. Arousal-surprise-want-need.
Isaac pulls out of the kiss when he pushes his hand against Stiles' crotch, because he wants to see Stiles' face when he starts rubbing him off through his jeans. It's just as great as he thought it would be, and it's a whole fuck lot more fun than watching Stiles storm a castle or something.
"Epic," Stiles says, giggling between hissed, happy breaths.